


Goodnight Sprace

by TotallyNot



Series: Newsies Oneshots [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gay, M/M, this is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyNot/pseuds/TotallyNot
Summary: I know this was shit, but it was the first fanfic i ever wrote. So cut me some slack?





	Goodnight Sprace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomedayBecomesSomehow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomedayBecomesSomehow/gifts).



The Brooklyn Bridge was 1.134 miles long. Which, in Spot Conlon's opinion, was 1.134 miles too long.

Now, for most people, this wasn't too bad. But, when you had walked your shoes off selling papers, the extra mile was a fucking hike. But Spot would go that extra mile to see Antonio Higgins. (Or as Spot liked to call him, "Fucking Higgins,")  As he started his walk to Manhattan, he admired how empty the bridge was. This was because all the Newsies of New York knew better than to be on the Brooklyn bridge from the hour of nine to ten. And why did the Newsies stay away? Because Spot Conlon's word was law. 

Nobody knew for sure what the relationship between Racetrack Higgins and Spot Conlon was, except for David Jacobs and Jack Kelly. Which was fine, seeing that the King Of Brooklyn knew exactly what was going on between the head of Manhattan and the walking mouth. And besides, Jack and Davey would be a fool to suggest anything funny happening around the most feared (not to mention respected) Newsie in all of New York. 

Spot walked a bit longer, only stopping to sell his last evening paper to one of his regulars. He finally reached the end of the bridge, and took a moment to lean against the back wall of a café. He closed his eyes for a second, resting against the cold brick wall. Because he was closing his eyes, he was unable to see a figure creep up on him. 

"Didn't ya mother eva tell ya not ta go outside afta dark?"

Spot jumped, opening his eyes, and then wrapping Racetrack Higgins into a hug."Didn't yours eva tell ya not ta go looking for trouble, Higgins?" Spot looked up into the grinning face of Racetrack Higgins, and almost got lost in those beautiful blue eyes.

Almost. In Spot's opinion, Race looked far too happy after a days work. "Higgins, ya look too alive for a night like this." Race giggled, and fuck, Spot just melted right there on the spot. Race gave spot a quick peck on the cheek, before entwining their hands.  

  

"Well Conlon, you don’t seem too happy. Why not? Is it not enough to see me?" Race said this with a little bit of a flirty tone in his voice.  Spot laughed, and they started walking, back across the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot pretended to think for a moment, and then turned to face his boyfriend.

"Well, Higgins," he said, enunciating on Race's last name, "I think I would be just a bit happier if I got to see ya more often."

Race snickered at Spot's sincere tone. "Is it because I's is such a good kisser?"

Spot blushed, and then, realizing what Race was playing at, shook his head. "I don’t think so Race. Hate ta break it t'ya, but I honestly think that even Davey would be a better kisser than you."  

  

Race faked a hurt expression. "Well than Conlon, I guess I'll have ta prove I'm the best kisser around, wont I?'

Spot laughed, "I suppose you will. In fact, I dare you." Race leaned in to Spot, and before they knew it, the distance between their lips had closed. Spot pulled away after a few seconds. "Damn Higgins. I think you were right. You're definitely the best kisser." Spot smirked smugly at Race.

"Be a gentleman and walk me back to the Brooklyn house?" Racez giggled.

"Of course." 

  

If anyone had been walking down the Brooklyn Bridge that night, they might have seen two teenaged newsboys kissing on the side of the bridge. And in the morning, if Jack had counted all the newsies in the Manhattan lodging house, he might have counted one less than usual. But then again, who was counting? 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this was shit, but it was the first fanfic i ever wrote. So cut me some slack?


End file.
